Shippers: Rise of the Sues
by Funk Oni
Summary: The world has been devastated by an unimaginable threat a suefic uprising. Three heroes stand among the wreckage, each ready to fight the infected as they search out other survivors of the Avatar fan community. Action! Comedy! Livestock!
1. Chapter 1

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter One: Night of the Shippers

"It started three weeks ago," she snapped the tip off of a stick of pocky with her teeth, staring towards the ground as she recounted the tale.

The air was cold, soft streams of light penetrating the windows to illuminate the littered garage. Boxes of food lay scattered across the cement floor, the temporary shelter having served its purpose.

"I can safely say I didn't see this coming," she glanced up, the stick of pocky hanging idly from her mouth.

An eerie silence flooded the streets outside the garage, the leaves of the nearby trees swaying gently as the wind touched upon them.

"Seriously, I don't think anyone did. I mean, zombie attacks? Maybe. Ninja assault in the dead of night? Could happen. Robot revolution? Likely. But…"

The second survivor placed her hand softly on the window, gazing out to survey their surroundings.

"Suefic author uprising?" her shoulders rose as her eyes went wide, a look of frustration filling her face. "Who saw that coming? Seriously?"

"Kimchi," Isaia whispered cautiously to her partner.

"Hold on," she nodded towards the humming camera as she glanced back. "What's up?"

"I think it's clear; we should try to get out of here."

"Ah, right. Alright, let me just…" she stood up quickly, leaning in towards the camera to switch it off. Her hands shied away as she looked towards the lens. "So yeah, if you find this, we kind of hid in your garage to get away from a bunch of Kataangers. Sorry for eating all your food," she nodded as she shut the camera off.

"What if they're hiding?" Isaia glanced out the window again nervously, unsure as to whether the silence could be trusted.

"Then we run and find another garage. One with frosted mini-wheats, this time," Kimchi hoped as she crouched, her hand wrapping around the garage door handle.

"They're that important?" she lowered her body, getting ready to run in the event of a shipper attack.

"They're part of a well balanced breakfast," she lifted her legs as she explained, throwing the garage door open.

The two rushed out of the garage quickly, searching frantically from side to side to inspect for danger.

To describe the uprising as "sudden" would do no justice to the speed at which the suefic authors spread.

Isaia tread carefully, slowing as she continued scouting for potential threats. Her long sleeve brown shirt hung lightly over a white t-shirt, her skirt stained with the dust of the garage. Beneath her arm was a sketchbook, a pencil hidden within the binding rings.

The governments scrambled to assess the danger, working quickly to determine the cause and nature of the threat. Their delayed actions rendered them helpless as the suefic authors ravaged their capitols, spreading their infection.

Kimchi remained beside her friend, a pair of jeans beneath her horizontally striped shirt. A pair of sunglasses concealed her eyes, a crossbow strapped to her back.

The few news organizations that remained delivered reports of large unidentified ships nearing the shores of the various countries, their decks bustling with infected life. On the hull of each ship words were painted in the blood of innocents.

"Kataang."

"Zutara."

Other ships had been reported, the writing on their sides yet to be identified. These two stood out amongst the others, the terror of the sight rendering the witnesses nearly catatonic.

The two continued along, the silence inspiring within them a fearful paranoia.

Some scientists had survived the initial phase of the uprising. Their hurried efforts brought certain facts to light; the suefic authors rarely resorted to killing, instead attempting to turn their victims to support their beliefs.

Isaia came to a halt, her hand rising to her mouth in shock as she stared out over the long street.

All it took to be turned to their ravenous cause was one bite. Any body fluid transferred from an infected to a host resulted in almost immediate conversion. The world stared in terror at this fact.

Evacuated cars littered the road, some lying in twisted wrecks as blood stained the ground.

Some called it judgment day.

"C'mon," Kimchi stared nervously, pushing herself forward.

The suefic authors took out the internet as soon as they could, the constant disapproval of their fanfictions fueling their blind rage. Those who had theories and strategies to defeat them had been separated by this, scattered.

Glass crunched beneath their feet as they continued along the street, forcing themselves not to turn their attention towards the dead. Moving quickly, they found themselves nearing an intersection.

The suefic authors' advantage would not last; the Avatar fans each taking independent action to unify, to combat the threat they had failed to foresee.

"I think they're all gone," she started as she neared the corner.

"Yeah," Isaia nodded in agreement, glancing behind them to ensure they hadn't been followed.

They turned the corner, a mob of Kataangers swarming the street with wide eyes and terrifying grins.

In unison, they all turned to face the two uninfected.

"…God damnit," Kimchi muttered as she reached back quickly for the crossbow.

"Oh em gee!" one of the Kataangers called out.

"Ell oh ell!" another tilted its head to the side forcefully as it began hobbling forward.

"Double-u tee eff ell oh ell?" another chimed loudly as it lifted its hands, stumbling towards the two.

Isaia lifted her notebook in front of her face, having no other means of protection as the hideous swarm advanced.

She fired the crossbow rapidly, her hand straining as she reloaded bolt after bolt. They retreated gradually, maintaining a steady attack. Sweat coated her brow as she became aware of the Kataanger's gain on them.

"What do we do?" the artist yelled out.

"I don't know!"

Grinning wildly, one of the infected hurled himself forward towards the sketchbook wielding girl.

She closed her eyes as she screamed out, the notebook poised to ward off the attacker.

Nothing.

Opening her eyes, she glanced towards the attacker, only to witness a stranger's back.

Conor glared forward, the katana held tightly at his side as blood trailed it. The Kataanger lay on the ground in two distinct halves, still chanting abbreviations.

He wore a black long-sleeve shirt, two yellow stripes trailing down each sleeve. The center was unzipped, a pendant hanging idly over a white t-shirt. Jeans and sandals made up the rest of his attire.

Kimchi continued unloading bolts into the infected, still stepping back.

Conor stepped forward, lashing the blade out into the chest of another attacker before slicing at a third.

Regaining herself, Isaia stood poised as she searched for any possible implements of destruction.

"Behind you!" she called out to the newcomer as she loaded the crossbow again, slamming the butt of it into the face of another Kataanger.

His eyes went wide as he twisted back quickly, the katana cutting what had once been a harmless cosplayer in half.

"Isaia, what's your weapon!" Kimchi kicked another in the chest, firing into its head as it reeled back.

"…Art!" she called out as she tightened her grip on the notebook and pencil, her face taking on a visible determination.

"Use it!"

She placed the pencil to an open page carefully, concentrating intensely as another suefic author approached, eyes white with non-canon fury. Her hand moved softly, a line appearing on the paper just before she lifted it, stabbing the Kataanger in the eye.

Conor and Kimchi stared, the irony of the situation overpowering. Their admiration was broken by the continuous attacks of the mob, the group tearing through them fearfully.

Within ten minutes the Kataanger patrol lay before them, their bodies as ravaged as their minds. The group panted as they attempted to catch their breath.

"That was fun," he sheathed the katana as he made a vain attempt to break the ice.

"Who are you?" Isaia brushed some hair from her face as she looked towards him, the intensity of the fight having prevented her from studying the newcomer.

"Conor," he nodded in greeting, smiling towards the girl.

"Thanks for the help," Kimchi called back to him as she pulled an arrow from the chest of an infected, inspecting for the possibility of being able to re-use it.

"…What's that?" he glanced towards the instrument suspiciously.

"What, this? It's a crossbow." The explanation was given simply, the tone conveying a slight curiosity as to what the confusion was about.

"A crossbow?"

"A crossbow."

"Not, I don't know…A gun? Something a little, y'know, useful?"

"You're carrying a katana. A freaking katana," an eyebrow raised, perplexed at his fascination with the matter.

"Yeah, but that's a little more logical than a crossbow."

"Are you kidding me! I've got silver tipped arrows!" The arrows were not so much silver tipped as their tips had been painted silver, using spray paint found in the garage they had occupied earlier.

"Sil…What do you think we're fighting, freakin' werewolves!" he exclaimed as he examined one of the bolts.

"We could be!"

"That's stupid."

"Oh yeah, it's stupid now, but who's going to be the one crying when a werewolf bites one of the suefic authors? Me though, I'll be prepared!"

"That's ridiculous!"

"You're ridiculous!"

"Um…I don't think this is the time for this," Isaia noted from the sidelines, peering down the street in worry of a second wave.

"Right," Kimchi nodded, convinced that she had put Conor in his place.

"Right," Conor nodded, convinced that he had put Kimchi in her place.

"Where are you headed?" Isaia asked him curiously, wiping the blood from her pencil.

"I was just kind of wandering," he shrugged. "Figured I'd bump into other survivors."

"Might as well stick together then," Kimchi thought aloud. "We've got better chances of making it as a group."

"Where are you going?" he asked as he folded his arms.

"We're searching for anyone from the Avatar community," Isaia began the explanation. "We figure that between all of us, we'll be able to figure out what to do. We're hoping to find the author of Avatarsues or Booter Freak."

"They probably went after them first," he guessed out loud, hoping to be wrong on both counts.

"You know about the Avatar community?" Kimchi's eyebrow rose.

Lifting his fist, he pointed a thumb towards himself. "Fanfiction writer."

"Arist," she lifted a hand.

"Arist," Isaia nodded. "I try to write, too…"

"Renaissance woman," he smiled.

She smiled, flattered by the compliment.

"Alright. Let's get going; we shouldn't stay in one place for too long," Kimchi looked out over the street.

"Right," Isaia nodded as she wiped a bit of blood from her glasses.

Stepping down the street, he began peering into the window of each car. He motioned an arm towards the pair, calling them towards him.

"The keys still there?" She leaned in towards the driver side window of the mini-van, grinning as she spotted them in the ignition. Something had finally turned in their favor.

"I'll drive," he grinned as he reared the sheathed katana back, slamming it into the window to gain access to the vehicle.

The two girls lifted their hands, shying back as glass rained down upon the pavement. Kimchi narrowed her eyes towards him.

He grinned at the skillful improvisation, brushing some glass off of the back of his hand. "What?"

"It was unlocked," she explained with agitation.

"Wait, what?" Turning quickly towards the lock, his face took on an expression of amused fascination. "Huh. Shit."

"Shotgun," Kimchi muttered as she made her way to the opposite side of the vehicle.

"Don't you mean 'crossbow'?" he brushed some glass off of the driver's seat as he sat down.

"You're just jealous that my weapon's cooler," she opened the door quickly, setting the instrument down between the two seats.

Isaia climbed in behind them, making herself comfortable as she rested her sketchbook in her lap.

"I have a katana. Nothing's cooler than a katana," Conor protested as he adjusted the mirrors.

"Silver tipped arrows are cooler."

"You spray panted them."

"Yeah? Well what's your katana coated in?"

"Canon."

"What?"

"Canon, it's coated in canon."

"You can do that?" Isaia tilted her head as she studied the sheathed weapon.

"No, you can't coat something in canon!"

"I did."

"How!"

"Trade secret," he grinned as he fastened his seatbelt. The trade secret was that he had set the katana down on a couch, forcing it to watch all twenty episodes of the first season. The katana, being an inanimate object, did little to protest.

Conor smiled as the engine turned over, setting the car into drive.

"Where should we go first?" Isaia asked quietly as she looked out the window.

"Taco Bell," Kimchi nodded.

"Gross," the driver noted. "Burger King."

"I don't eat meat," she protested.

"So take it off the bun."

"Ew, no! Then there's meat juice in the bun!"

"Meat juice?"

"Meat juice."

"Look, most of society's been ravaged by suefic authors. Any restaurant we go to, the clerks're probably all dead or worse; slash authors. We're going to be making the food ourselves, so what's it matter?"

"Name one thing from Burger King that doesn't have meat."

He hesitated, his eyes fixed on the road. "…Their…Salads?"

"Those have pieces of chicken in them."

"Fine, their..." his voice trailed off as he searched for any product free of meat.

"We're eating at Taco Bell."

"Damnit," he muttered as his frame relaxed into the seat.

Isaia sat behind them, smiling softly as she brought her pencil to the paper. For the first time in nearly a month, she had been given a scene she was happy to draw.


	2. Chapter 2

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter Two: Dawn of the Shippers

"This isn't going to work," Kimchi watched with folded arms.

"No, this is foolproof. Just look at the plans I drew in Isaia's sketchbook," Conor reassured the two as he made the final modifications to the potato gun.

They had stopped for gas near a hardware store, the writer insisting that he could properly construct a potato cannon based on something a friend had told him a few summers ago.

Isaia flipped through the sketchbook, stopping on a page that was sloppily marked with illegible cursive and stick figures, a shape resembling the potato gun on the center of the page.

"Is this supposed to be me?" the crossbow wielder questioned as she pointed towards a stick figure in sunglasses.

"Alright, we're ready," he stepped to the end of the PVC pipe, crouching as he grasped the canister wedged into it.

The girls proceeded to demonstrate their confidence in his plan, taking several steps back.

"I'm gonna try to hit that billboard," he nodded. "I want to see its range." He twisted the canister quickly, the pipe bursting as compressed air tore through it, warping the plastic.

"Conor!" Isaia lifted her hand to her mouth as he flew back a few feet, landing on his back.

"Told you!" Kimchi cackled, the scenario hilarious to her.

"Shut up," he muttered, picking himself up off the ground.

The artist helped the writer up, making sure he suffered no major wounds.

"I really thought that was gonna work," he muttered while dusting himself off.

"Why do we even need a potato gun?" Kimchi questioned, feeling the project to be somewhat frivolous despite its hilarity.

"Figured we could use it to pick off shippers while driving," he shrugged.

"With potatoes?" A hint of doubt filled Isaia's words.

"Potatoes kill."

"No they don't," the crossbow wielder interjected as she approached a soda machine, studying its selection.

Conor grinned, lifting a potato from the bag. He aimed carefully, pulling his arm back. Before he could throw, he felt the kind artist's hand touch against his other arm, shaking her head from side to side disapprovingly.

Grumbling, he dropped the potato to the ground.

"Regardless, we're gonna need more than a katana and a crossbow…"

"With silver tipped arrows," she corrected as she began wailing on the machine with the butt of her weapon.

"With silver tipped arrows," he muttered, "if we want to survive."

"Alright. So where can we go to find weapons?" She gave one last forceful strike to the machine, a can of soda falling. Grinning, she picked it up as she made her way back to the two.

"Wal-Mart?" Isaia suggested.

"They do have everything," he added.

"Yeah, but they also sell Avatar toys and DVDs," she sighed. "That means the place'll be crawling with shippers."

"We'll just find a gun shop," he shrugged.

"Where're we going to find a gun shop?" Kimchi answered doubtfully.

"We're in America; I doubt we're gonna have that much trouble finding a gun shop," he answered flatly.

"Around here, I mean."

"We could look it up in the phone book," the artist suggested.

"Okay, so all we need is a phone book." She tapped the top of the soda to remove the possibility of it erupting upon being opened, pulling back the tab.

"Easy, we take it from the pay phone at the gas station," he turned towards the mini-van, picking up the bag of potatoes as he felt for the keys in his pocket.

"Just leave those," Kimchi looked at the bag, curious as to why he would bother.

"No way; never know when you'll need a potato," he answered.

"That's stupid.

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider," she countered as she made her way to the passenger seat.

"Um…Maybe this isn't the best time for this…?" Isaia observed quietly, opening the door to the back seat.

The two muttered as they sat, plugging their seatbelts in.

"How far back is the gas station?" he started the engine, the mini-van crawling towards the street.

"A block, maybe two," she brought her feet up, resting them on the dashboard as she set the crossbow to her side.

"Righ-Oh," his eyes went wide as the car turned into the street, stopping suddenly.

"What is…" Isaia trailed off as she stared, a large wave of shippers staggering down the street.

"You're kidding me," Kimchi's eyes went wide as she observed the size of the mob, at least twice the size of the one they had encountered the day they met Conor.

"What do we do?" the artist whispered from the back seat.

"Alright. Um…How badly do we want that phone book?" he tapped the wheel, nodding his head as he considered the scenario.

"If you punch it, we can just swing by real fast and grab it," she answered quietly, her hand touching against the crossbow.

"Right," he slammed his foot on the gas, the wheels screeching as they tore against the pavement. He flipped the turn signal on, looping into the gas station parking lot. The car skid to a halt next to the pay phone, a few feet from the back seat window.

"Damn," he muttered, looking towards the kind artist. "Isaia, can you grab the book?"

She grasped the handle, staring up at them worriedly.

"It won't open."

"Did you lock the doors?" she looked at him curiously.

"No, I didn't touch them. Did you?"

"Why would I ask you if I did it?"

"Then wha-Oh, God damn it," He slapped the wheel. "It's child locked, isn't it?"

"Why would it be child locked?!"

"It's a mini-van, probably belonged to some soccer mom!"

"Whatever; Isaia, try leaning out the window!"

She nodded, rolling down the window as she leaned out towards the pay phone. She groaned, swatting her hand at the book just out of her reach.

"Here; switch places with me!" Conor rose up from the driver's seat, realizing he had forgotten to disconnect his seatbelt. Correcting the problem, he hurried to the back seat.

The artist hurried to take his place at the wheel, buckling herself in.

He reached out quickly, grasping the phone book before pulling himself back into the car. He tugged at the chain connecting the book to the payphone, growling as he attempted to break it free.

"Drive!" he called out, staring nervously towards the oncoming shippers.

"I don't have a license!"

"Are you kidding me with this?" Kimchi narrowed her eyes.

With a look of embarrassment, the artist shook her head from side to side.

"No one's going to pull you over, just drive!"

She tapped her foot to the gas nervously, the mini-van lurching forward. Pressing harder, she gripped the wheel as the vehicle took off.

"Oh em gee Zuko and Sokka oh tee pee!" the shipper grinned maniacally as it rushed towards Conor's arms, still clinging to the phone book.

"Not today," he grinned, the chain holding the phone book snapping as the mini-van tore towards the street.

"Yes!" Kimchi threw her fist up as they escaped, laughing happily.

Isaia smiled with relief, looking back towards the writer as he gripped the book.

"Christ," he opened his eyes, looking down at the book. He set it down beside him, regaining his breath as the car continued down the street, the Zukka shippers disappearing behind them.

Time passed, Kimchi glancing back towards the book.

"Hey. Want to look up a gun shop?"

"Sure," he grasped the binding, lifting the book to his lap as he began flipping through it. He glanced out the window, his eyebrow rising as the mini-van slowed to a stop.

"What's wrong?" she glanced towards the driver.

Isaia simply stared out the window silently.

"…No," he shook his head from side to side in disbelief.

Kimchi's jaw dropped, her eyes narrowing as she observed what lay before them.

A gun shop sat before them, not two miles from where they had struggled to acquire the phone book.

"Y'know what? No. No, I'm not even commenting on this. Not a word," she shrugged as she lifted her crossbow, kicking the passenger side door open.

He stepped out of the car calmly, speeding up as he threw the book down a nearby alley to relieve some of the frustration the irony of the situation had imparted on him.

Isaia locked the doors before walking towards the shop, pulling at the glass door's handle.

"It's locked."

"No it isn't," he muttered, throwing a metal trash can at the window. It hit against the glass, leaving an intense pattern of cracks.

"Nice," Kimchi noted sarcastically.

"That would've been a lot cooler if it just went right through. Y'know, just one quick smash," he explained as he lifted the trash can again, hitting it against the glass to shatter it.

They moved through the store quickly, taking whatever looked like it would be relatively useful in their journey. Before long they had cleared out as much as the van would carry.

Conor secured a dual pistol holster around his waist, looking out to see if they had missed anything important.

"Have you ever fired a gun?" Kimchi looked towards Isaia as she strapped a rifle to her back, hoping at least one of them had.

"No," she worried quietly, looking at the pistol holstered to her side.

"Let's get out of here," he suggested quickly, hopping out of the shop window, looking agitated as he neared the center of the street.

"Oh c'mon!" Kimchi screeched as she threw her hands up to the air, the Zukkas in the distance infuriating her.

The two reached back for the guns they had recently acquired, glaring as they aimed.

"Wait!" Isaia called out from behind them.

"What?" He looked at her curiously.

"I mean…Should we really shoot them…? What if there's some way to change them back?" The question had been eating at her for awhile.

"Back to what they were?" he lowered the weapon slightly.

"Right," she nodded.

"Slash artists and sue-generating crack shippers?" Kimchi questioned.

"Yes, I suppose…"

The two looked at one another, pulling at the triggers rapidly as they opened fire on the mob, their eyes wide as they considered both realities to be hazardous. Upon running out of bullets, they proceeded to throw their guns at the group before diving into the mini-van.

Isaia stared, taken off guard by the sudden bursts of fire.

"C'mon!" Kimchi yelled to her as she hurried for the passenger seat, waving to her friend.

The artist followed quickly, shutting the back seat tightly behind her.

"They're still coming," he glanced back over the driver's seat.

"Just make this left and look for a highway," she waved her arm out to the street, loading the crossbow.

He lashed his hand out, activating the signal before turning.

"What are you doing?!" Kimchi's eyebrow rose.

"Driving!"

"Why did you signal!?"

"You're supposed to signal!"

"Not when you're being chased by shippers!"

"What, you'd rather I got pulled over?!"

"Who's going to pull you over?!"

"Look, it's the law!"

"Yeah, but then they know you're going to turn left! If you're going to signal, signal in the direction you're not turning!" She looked over her shoulder, cursing under her breath as the shippers chased after them. "Isaia, hold them off!"

She nodded, looking towards the open rear window of the mini-van. She brought the handgun up, aiming carefully towards the ravenous mob. Securing the shot, she proceeded to throw the firearm at them.

"No, you're supposed to shoot it!"

She fished through the back of the vehicle, pulling up another gun. Aiming it nervously, she gasped as it fired.

"Keep going!" Kimchi grinned, watching an overweight cosplayer fall to the ground.

The car turned, pulling towards a nearby exit.

"Stop signaling!" she yelled again, looking towards the overly cautious driver.

"Look, if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right!"

"You drive like an old lady!"

"What, you think you can do better?!"

"I know I can do better!"

"Fine, then you drive!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine! Pull over!"

"Fine, I will!"

"Fine, go ahead then!"

"Fine, I'm doing it!"

Isaia glanced towards them, curious as to their overuse of the word "fine."

The mini-van pulled over to the side of the highway, the two stepping out and slamming their doors behind them before passing one another. They sat back down, Isaia firing fearfully at the approaching shippers.

She pressed her foot against the gas, tearing down the highway with a nonchalant look.

The artist sighed a breath of relief as the shippers disappeared from sight, dropping the shotgun to her side.

"Nice blinker." He commented dryly, kicking his feet up onto the dash.

"Shut up," Kimchi muttered as she switched it off.

Isaia laughed softly, fishing through the guns for her sketchbook. Drawing it out, she proceeded to sketch the scene before her, smiling gently.


	3. Chapter 3

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter Three: 28 Sues Later

"Joe made an interesting point once, something I hadn't thought of before." Conor entered into the next topic of conversation, leaning forward as he studied the passing road sign.

"Who's Joe?" Kimchi glanced over from the passenger seat, her feet up on the dashboard.

Isaia sketched quietly in the back, glancing up as he spoke.

"Buddy of mine. Anyway; y'know Pokemon?"

"The game or the show?" she lowered the window, her arm hanging idly out the side.

"Both, either, whatever."

"What about it?" Isaia asked curiously.

"Okay, follow me on this; you know how there're no animals? Just Pokemon? No birds, cows, turtles?"

"They have Squirtles," Kimchi offered to compensate.

"No, that's not…You know what I mean, right? No animals?" He moved his hand, signaling left before turning.

"Stop doing that," Kimchi muttered, refusing to let the matter pass.

"I know what you mean," Isaia offered. She was curious as to where he was going, and knew that an argument between the two would only bring them further from the topic.

"Okay, good. Now, y'know how there are burgers in the Poke-Verse?"

"Poke-Verse?" the artist snorted softly from the passenger seat.

"Shut up. Burgers, chicken, milk?" He glanced towards the rear view mirror, looking towards the backseat passenger.

"Yes," she nodded.

"If they don't have animals, but they still have milk and meat..." he trailed off, giving them the opportunity to piece the rest together themselves.

"…Oh my God," Kimchi's eyes went wide beneath the sunglasses.

Isaia smiled, laughing amusedly at the realization.

"…Then they're killing the Pokemon and eating them. And milking them," he added.

"Where are they getting the milk?" the crossbow wielder asked wondrously.

"Whichever Pokemon has nipples?" he shrugged.

"Gross," she sneered with slight disgust at the image.

"Isaia, which Pokemon has nipples?" Conor looked back towards the rear view mirror.

"…Why would I know?"

"I don't know; worth a shot."

"Well, mammals give milk. So whichever one's a mammal," Kimchi suggested.

"I don't think there are mammals. I think they're just Pokemon," the artist noted quietly.

"We'll have to find a strategy guide the next time we're near a game store," he nodded slightly, determined to investigate the matter later on.

"Are we getting on the highway?" she wielder peered out the window, looking towards a sign as it passed.

"Nah, we're gonna gas up here first." He nodded his head towards a shopping center, his hand moving to signal right.

"I think you have a signaling problem," she muttered.

"No. Just because you drive like you're on fire, don't…"

"Why would I drive if I was on fire? That's stupid."

"That's not the point," he sighed.

"You're not the point," she countered.

"Ah," Isaia's eyes lit up as she glanced out the window. "They have an art supply store!" Her drawing supplies had grown weary since they embarked on their journey, in desperate need of replacement.

"Good, they have a Laundromat," he pulled into the gas station, looking out toward the row of stores at the other end of the parking lot.

"Why do you need a Laundromat?" Kimchi unbuckled her seatbelt, opening the passenger door. She stretched her legs out, grateful for the opportunity to walk about.

"We've been wearing the same clothes since we left; I think it'd be nice t'clean 'em every now and then." He lifted the handle of the gas pump, unscrewing the fuel cap on the mini-van.

Isaia stepped out of the vehicle, stretching her arms out to either side.

"You know you could just grab some new ones, right?" her eyebrow rose slightly as she questioned his logic.

"That'd be stealing," he explained lowly, inserting the handle into the tank.

"...So instead of getting new clothes so that you're not just limited to one pair, you'd rather wash the one pair you've got every couple days?"

"Yeah, that's about right."

"…Suit yourself. C'mon Isaia!" Kimchi smiled excitedly, taking her fellow artist by the hand.

Her eyes went wide, surprised by her friend's sudden enthusiasm. She followed quickly, curious as to what had gotten her so worked up.

"Where're you two going?"

"Getting supplies," she explained quickly as they hurried off.

"Hmm," he watched after them as they left, glancing towards the gas pump. He reset the handle, twisting the cap back on before he made his way into the station interior.

It had been abandoned during the second wave of the shipper uprising, bits of food from travelers and wanderers scattered across the floor.

"Hello?" he made his way to the back freezer, searching through the drinks before he found what he was after; an Arizona diet green tea.

"Anyone here?" he looked to either side of the store as he approached the counter, fishing out his wallet. He placed two twenties on it, peering behind it to see if the clerk was preoccupied. Blinking, he closed his eyes as he marveled at his own stupidity.

"Right; shipper uprising." He grasped the iced tea, leaving the forty dollars on the counter. Taking gas without paying for it seemed wrong to him, somehow. Even if society had crumbled.

He looked out over the parking lot, suddenly becoming acutely aware of the distance between the Laundromat and the mini-van. Opening the door, he grabbed his katana before making his way towards the store.

"Do we really need this much candy?" Isaia's eyebrow rose as she peered down into the cart.

"Yes. Yes we do," she answered simply as she threw a number of juice boxes on top of the other groceries.

"What should we get for Conor?" she asked quietly as she stood as tall as she could, attempting to find the aisle that would be most likely to house rice cakes.

"Potatoes," she quipped dryly.

"Yeah, but what's something that you think he'd really like?" she studied the aisle they had just entered.

"…Two potatoes?"

Conor opened the top of the washing machine, dropping the clothes he had been wearing for so long. Pouring a bit of detergent in he set the first cycle, picking up an old newspaper that had been discarded as he waited for it to finish. He leaned against another unit, wearing only his boxers and pendant.

"Ah, so much stuff!" Isaia beamed as she entered the art supplies store, ecstatic at what lay before them.

"Grab as much as you want, it's probably better if we stock up now instead of stopping later," Kimchi left their cart outside, understanding that the area was devoid of anyone who would be willing to steal it.

"We can't, it wouldn't be right," she lifted a hand to her mouth as she fought the temptation to grab as much stuff as possible.

"What do you mean?"

"It'd be stealing."

"I figure society's a bit more concerned with the shippers than they are with their art supplies," she countered.

"True…But it still feels a little weird."

"If it really bothers you, we can still pay for it. We'll just leave the money on the counter for when the staff comes back," she offered with a shrug.

"Sounds good," Isaia smiled. She made her way through the store, studying the aisles as she placed what she felt would be most useful into a hand basket.

Conor glanced up towards the washing machine, the sudden quiet pulling his attention away from the comics section.

He tossed the laundry into a nearby dryer, paying careful attention to the settings for fear of shrinking the only pair of clothing he owned. Grasping his wallet he tried to fish out another single to get change.

His eyes went wide with horror as he viewed the terrifying sight.

He was out of singles.

He was out of fives.

He hurried to the change machine, cursing inaudibly as he observed that it would not take anything higher than the two.

Looking about frantically, he caught sight of a bank halfway across the parking lot. He glanced down towards his boxers, realizing he would have to risk exposure.

Leaning out the door he glanced to the left.

Nothing.

He glanced to the right.

Nothing.

He began sprinting towards the bank, stopping the moment he reached the blacktop. He hurried back towards the Laundromat.

He rushed towards the bank at full speed once again, this time carrying the katana in his left hand for safety purposes.

"This. And this. And this," Kimchi recited quietly as she tossed more items into the cart.

"…We're going to pay for these too, right?" the artist asked suspiciously.

"Hey," the crossbow wielder turned, holding up the Gameboy Advance SP.

"We need this. This is crucial," she nodded as she tossed it into the cart.

Isaia sighed, her attention piqued by something near the front counter. She leaned down, tugging at it. She smiled softly as she read the title.

"Pokemon Strategy Guide."

Conor sprinted back as fast as he could, having managed to find a lone dollar bill lying idly on the bank floor behind the counter.

He nearly dove into the Laundromat, not wanting either of the girls to see him in his humble attire. He grinned as he neared the change machine, inserting the bill carefully.

It spit back out.

He slid it back in hopefully.

It spit back out.

He pressed the bill hard against the wall.

It spit back out.

"Let me see!" Kimchi grinned, waiting on the other side of the door.

The door to the changing room opened, Isaia blushing nervously in her new clothing.

She wore a dark pair of jeans, a very soft green T-shirt covering her torso. Atop it was a brown zip-up hoodie, a new bag for her art supplies wrapped over her shoulder.

Kimchi smiled, wearing a lighter pair of jeans with a row of small studs down each side. A thin sleeveless black hoodie covered her white three-quarter T-shirt, her sunglasses the same as before.

The two had taken the opportunity to indulge themselves in a game of dress-up.

"Gimme quarters!" he screamed as he grasped the machine by both sides.

It responded promptly and understandingly by spitting his dollar bill back out.

No longer able to maintain his patience, he tore at the machine until it had loosened from the ground. He lifted it over his head, tossing it towards the open Laundromat door. He confidently watched his opponent fall against the ground, his eyes going wide as he became aware of the scene behind it.

A group of shippers approached from the opposite end of the parking lot, stumbling towards him with disturbing grins.

"Son of a…" he stepped back inside, walking towards the parking lot to meet them with his katana.

Kimchi and Isaia had stepped back out to investigate the loud crashing noise they had heard, instead finding an awaiting squadron of shippers and a pantsless Conor.

The artist blushed, the crossbow warrior merely raising an eyebrow.

"…One-up?"

He glanced down towards his one-up boxers, looking back towards the shipper horde.

"Shut up."

"…So if you die, what, they disappear and you come back?"

"Shut up."

"Where are your clothes?"

"Machine ate my dollar," he explained as he tore forward, preparing to take out his frustration on the mob.

"Right," she nodded as she readied her crossbow.

Isaia grasped the pistol from her holster, lifting it towards the mob.

"Ell oh ell," one smiled as a bullet tore through his shoulder.

"Aren't Zuko…And Sokka…So cute…Together…?" another grinned as the katana lashed against her throat.

"They're Zukkas!" Conor screamed as he sliced into another.

"Very gross," Kimchi muttered as another crossbow bolt sailed through the air.

Isaia fired quickly, attempting to improve her aim upon each shot.

"You're a…Homophobe…" one accused slowly, reaching his palms towards the swordsman.

"No," he growled as he stabbed the blade into the shipper's skull. "I just hate when people are out of character for the sake of a pairing."

"Inconsiderate…" another whined slowly, stumbling towards Isaia as she reloaded.

"Gah, even when they're all zombified they make stupid, overly-defensive accusations," the crossbow wielder sneered as one of her shots blew the shipper off of her feet.

Conor turned to face the last of the mob members, his grip on the hilt tightening. His eyes went wide as the shipper fell to the ground, a bullet hole torn through the side of his head.

Isaia's eyes were equally wide, amazed that she had hit exactly where she was aiming.

"Nice shot," Kimchi complimented as she made her way towards one of the fallen shippers. She pulled her arrow out, determined to conserve as many as possible.

"Where've you two been?" he looked over the mob, surprised that they had managed to get so close without notice.

"Told you; shopping. Like our new stuff?" she smiled proudly.

Conor glanced towards Isaia, staring slightly as he watched her.

She blushed softly as she slipped the gun back into its holster.

"Yeah," he blinked, snapping back to reality. "Yeah, looks good."

"Rest of the stuff is in that cart over there," Kimchi nodded.

He looked towards the cart, narrowing his eyes a bit as he studied it.

The cart was overstocked, the bottom of it lined with a seemingly random arrangement of groceries. Atop that was a few shopping bags stocked with art supplies beneath a thin layer of video games. The topmost layer had been made up of clothes. The crown jewel of the cart however, was the supermarket gumball machine that had been lifted from its former location and placed neatly atop the "supplies."

"…Gumball machine?"

"One hundred percent necessary to our survival," she insisted, fishing out the last arrow.

"Right," he muttered as he made his way away from them.

"Conor?" Isaia asked after him, curious as to where he was going.

He remained silent as he walked across the parking lot in his boxers, sheathing the katana slowly.

They loaded up the mini-van without him, each glancing in the direction he had traveled at intervals, wondering where he had disappeared to. Kimchi took the wheel, starting the car as they waited.

"There," Isaia leaned towards the front seat, pointing towards an approaching figure.

There was complete silence as he shoved the large bag full of men's dress wear into the back of the mini-van, throwing the twelve-packs of diet green tea on top.

He sat down in the passenger seat, dressed in a pair of dress shoes and black pants. He wore a golden yellow dress shirt, the top button undone. The sleeves had been rolled up, the shirt itself not even tucked in. A black open dress vest rested atop it.

"You good?" Kimchi smirked.

"I'm good," he grinned, buckling in.

"Conor," Isaia leaned forward slightly.

"Hmm?"

The driver started the mini-van, not bothering to signal as she started forward.

"I got you something." She smiled as she offered the strategy guide to him.

He laughed as he looked over the cover, flipping through it. He noticed an entry at the bottom of the table of contents in pen.

"Pokemon Nipples."

He flipped through it quickly, finding the entry to be on the back inside cover. It read the following, in bold pen:

"Pokemon don't have nipples. You're gross. –Kimchi."

"Thanks," he glanced towards her as he closed the book.

"I do what I can," she shrugged.

Isaia smiled softly as she tested out her new art supplies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter Four: Nightmare on Sue Street

"Oh cool; morning news," Kimchi lifted the newspaper, studying the front page carefully.

Isaia glanced curiously over her friend's shoulder. "Isn't that from last mon…"

"Oh wow! Front page: Conor sucks!"

"Nice," the swordsman muttered from the opposite side of the mini-van's roof.

"Hey look, they even explain why on page two. Let's see, page two…" she unfolded the paper, humming as she mockingly searched through the articles. "Ah, okay. Here we go. Oh wow, this is a shocker. Hey Isaia, you know why Conor sucks?"

"Gee I wonder," he grumbled knowingly, having heard the reason several times over the course of the past few hours.

"Kimchi, maybe…"

"He sucks because he can't go one freaking turn without signaling! Not even when we've got thirty blasted shippers chasing after us!" Her tone grew louder as she delved further into the reason, throwing the paper out over the side of the vehicle.

What had been a crowd of thirty shippers had grown into a swarm of nearly one hundred, each pawing at the four sides of the van. Each felt a burning hunger, desiring nothing more than to find someone to infect with their wretched love for insensible character pairings.

The turn had brought them to the edge of a construction area, the lack of foundation rendering it little more than a deep pit that would have potentially killed the three had they driven off of it. Unable to reverse or to turn to escape, they found themselves sitting on the roof, making their last stand.

"…'Blasted'?" he glanced over his shoulder.

"What?" she asked.

"You really say 'blasted'?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothin'. That's not weird," he grinned as he looked out over his side, having never actually encountered someone who used the term beyond cartoon villains.

"You have a problem with the way I talk?" she glanced towards him.

"You have a problem with the way I drive?" he glanced back.

"Ah," Isaia interrupted, trying to prevent another argument between the two. "Maybe we should try to get out of here instead of fighting?"

"Fine," he muttered.

"He started it," she asserted defiantly.

"You started it!" the swordsman exclaimed.

"Your mom started it!"

"I don't think this is helping," Isaia lifted her sketchbook to her mouth, finding it increasingly difficult to calm the two.

"Look, we're just going to kill each other if we stay up here," he faced towards them, gripping the sheathed katana.

"So? We're stuck." Kimchi reminded him of their situation.

"Yeah; but we can either stay stuck up here, or we can give it a shot."

"But…Would you really want to become like one of those…?" Isaia pointed with slight disgust towards the shippers.

Near the rear of the van a group had crouched, tracing crude drawings in the sand of Azula and Aang engaging in activities both unlikely and inappropriate for their ages.

"That's why you're gonna stay up here and shoot me in the head if I get bit," he lifted his finger to his temple to demonstrate.

"Okay," Kimchi nodded without hesitation.

"Wait, what?!" Isaia stared.

"If I get bit, I don't want to end up like that. So I need you to shoot me if I start turning into one of them," he looked towards her. "I'd rather be dead than a shipper."

Conflicted, she turned her attention back toward the infected. Unable to form a definite resolve on the subject, she nodded her head meekly.

"Good. Alright, we're gonna need my ass-kicking-song for this," Conor smirked as he stood, uncovering the katana.

"Is that the one under 'Conor's-ass-kicking-playlist?" Kimchi browsed through the iPod they had commandeered from an Apple store.

"No, the one under that."

"…'Feel-good-tunes?" she lifted her eyebrow, questioning the title.

"Yeah. Get ready," he grinned as he pointed the blade out towards the pit that had blocked off their path. "Hey shippers, look! Avatar DVDs!"

The shippers continued shambling about, his words falling on deaf ears.

"…Okay," he lifted the sword back towards the area once more. "Let's try this again. Oh, em gee! Zuko hentai! Hotness. Or, hawtness. Whatever it is you say."

Isaia lifted her hand, stifling an amused snort at the tactic.

All at once they turned their attention in the direction he had pointed, a number of them stumbling over the ledge as others remained behind, having lost their infatuation with Zuko at the end of the second season when he shattered their dreams by going with a consistent and gradual method of character development rather than acting in the way they wanted him to.

"Now!" Conor glared, realizing this to be the best hand he would be dealt. Leaping from the roof he tore towards the scribbling group, his blade cutting clean through their skulls as he rushed by. The music poured through the air, Kimchi and Isaia picking off whichever shippers stood out as a clean shot.

The katana sliced through the air quickly, its path faltering only slightly as it moved from shipper to shipper. The lack of formal training had rendered him little more than a novice in the art, yet constant experience with the infected had refined him to a point inarguable skill.

The same was certain of the two artists as they fired into the group, their accuracy improving considerably with each encounter. Where they had hesitated they now acted certainly, taking little time to target their next shot.

"You're…Closed…Minded…" one of the shippers shook as she lifted her hands towards Conor's back.

Spinning around, the sword slashed hard across the shipper's chest.

"Wait a minute," Kimchi lowered the crossbow, looking towards the iPod."

"What is it?" Isaia asked worriedly.

"…Is this 'Moscow'?" she yelled at Conor, the song sounding familiar to her.

"Kind of," he grinned as he gripped the hilt of the blade tightly, driving back a pair of shippers.

"What is this, Korean?" she lifted the iPod to get a better look at the track title.

"Can this wait…?" her friend's attention darted back and forth between the two, trying to pick off enough shippers to keep Conor safe.

"You even have the Korean version of 'Numa Numa'?" she called back towards the swordsman.

"Yup," he grunted, his eyes going wide as he lost the advantage the element of surprise had afforded him. The shippers shambled towards him, pushing him back towards a wall.

"Kimchi!" Isaia yelled, hurrying to reload a pistol.

"Eh?" Right, right," she set the iPod back down, loading another crossbow bolt.

Conor's teeth clenched, the sword tearing quickly from shipper to shipper as they pressed towards him. The sensation of being overwhelmed coursed through him, a coldness stabbing into him as he felt hope begin to slip from his grasp.

"Conor!" the artist screamed, fumbling to slide the clip in.

From both sides of the crowd two figures rushed by, passing one another as a number of shippers fell to the ground.

The figures spun rapidly along the outer rim of the group, the infected falling quickly as they tore through them.

The writer sliced the blade once more, breathing heavy with fear as he looked out over the ground.

"That was close," the first figure observed as she drew to a stop.

"Yeah, good thing we got here," the other noted happily, stopping beside her partner.

The two were twins, identically in nearly every feature save a slight difference in height. Where one wore dark clothing with a white messenger bag, the other donned the inverse. Both held a kodachi in each hand, lined with the blood of the shippers they had just decimated.

A look of confusion spread over Conor's face, having not met someone capable of articulate sentences beyond Isaia and Kimchi in quite some time.

The two artists dropped carefully from the roof of the mini-van, hurrying toward the twins.

"Whoa!" Kimchi exclaimed, amazed that they had finally encountered other uninfected people.

"Thank you so much," Isaia nodded her head, grateful to them for stepping in when they did.

"No problem!" the one in white smiled. "Shippers can't drive. So when we heard a car going by, we figured we should check it out."

"Thank you," Conor nodded his head, slowly regaining his composure.

"You're welcome," the other noted.

"Who are you?" Kimchi lifted an eyebrow, gathering up a few stray crossbow bolts.

"Ah, sorry about that! I'm Hanna," the one in white nodded.

"Fia," the second lifted her hand, wiping the blood off of her blades.

"Isaia," the artist smiled.

"Conor," he nodded, cleaning the sword.

"Kimchi."

"Wait," Hanna's eyes went wide, pointing towards the two. "You're Isaia…? And when you say Kimchi…"

"Kimchi Crusader," she shrugged as she offered her full alias.

"Whoa," Fia stared.

"What, what is it?" Conor's eyebrow rose, suspicious of the sudden change in atmosphere. He gripped the hilt of the sword as the two sprang forward, embracing his traveling companions.

"We were so worried!" Hanna lifted a hand to her mouth, relieved that the two had made it through the shipper uprising. "When we didn't see a post from either of you, we figured you were infected!"

"Wait, what do you mean 'post'?" Kimchi stared, puzzled. "The shippers took out the internet."

"Yeah, but right before they did, everyone in the community posted to confirm if they were still okay or not," Fia explained as she sheathed the swords.

"I didn't know," Isaia stared, her internet connection have been unfortunately disconnected days before the posts had started.

Kimchi let out an exasperated sigh, having been too occupied with college assignments to monitor the community well enough to know of such a thing.

Conor, being new to the community, simply had no idea.

"Booter's going to be so happy to hear you're both okay!" Hanna smiled.

"Booter's alright?!" the artist exclaimed, nearly dropping her sketchbook.

"Yeah, a lot of people are! C'mon, we'll take you to them," she offered with a wave of the hand.

The three grabbed what they felt necessary, hurrying after the twins as they made their way through the streets. They studied each detail of what was before them, anticipating some ambush of shippers.

"…We figured we'd be safe in a museum, but one of the scouts found a bunch of fan artists in there drawing their original characters over the paintings to show how much better they were," Fia explained. "Malls and shopping centers are out too, so our choices were kind of limited."

"Health food stores?" Kimchi guessed.

"Too small, and all the ones around here are exposed. Then it hit us; a place the shippers would avoid, and we'd have computer access." Hanna grinned as they turned the final corner, pointing towards their destination.

Conor smirked, realizing the validity of the argument. With no school to attend or work to be done, the building would probably be left alone by Avatar craving shippers.

The five walked into the library, the area devoid of all shipper activity.

Cold shotgun barrels lifted to either side as they stepped in, the twins lifting their hands to reassure the guards.

"It's fine guys, they're with us. You're gonna like this," Hanna grinned again, looking towards the main desk.

Behind it sat an older woman, her attention fixed on the monitor before her. Her hair was short, a pair of glasses resting at the edge of her nose as her hand moved quickly to copy down the figures and numbers before her.

"Hey Rufftoon," Fia greeted casually.

Isaia and Kimchi's eyes went wide.

Conor simply stared, fishing through his pocket as he wondered if he had left the keys to the mini-van behind.

"Hmm? Hanna, Fia, you're back! Oh, so there was a car after all!" she smiled towards the group of strangers.

"Guess who this is?" Hanna touched her hand to Isaia's shoulder.

"And this?" Fia followed suit, resting her palm on Kimchi's.

Rufftoon's eyebrows rose, having been unaware that she was going to be quizzed on something today. Blinking, she shook her head slightly from side to side with a gentle shrug.

"Isaia!" the twin in white grinned.

"And Kimchi Crusader!" the opposite added, adding icing to the cake.

The woman's mouth opened, her hand lifting slightly. She recognized the names instantly.

Overwhelmed by the presence of someone she admired so deeply, Isaia hurried towards Rufftoon, nearly leaping over the desk as she hugged her.

Kimchi followed suit, hurrying towards them to greet the veteran artist as she met the two with equal admiration and joy.

"I have no idea what's going on," Conor studied the scene carefully.

"Happens a lot around here," one guard nodded, resting the shotgun on his shoulder.

"Who's that?" he nodded towards the woman.

"Rufftoon."

"Ruff…Oh, wait. She was in 'Flight,' right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I love that book," he nodded, recalling visits home from college where his friend would lend him the volume and excitedly point out the sections he had enjoyed. He smiled as the memory passed quietly through his mind, watching as the girls talked happily with the woman they venerated.

"What's all this?" another girl stepped into the lobby from the opposite side of the library, witnessing the commotion. Her hair was blonde, her eyes confused as she watched the commotion. To her side stood another girl, studying the scene carefully.

"Booter! Look who we brought!" Hanna pointed excitedly towards the two, quickly slipping into an explanation of who they were and how they had come across them.

"Who're they?" Conor leaned towards one of the guards.

"Booter Freak, leads this whole operation."

"Who's that next to her?"

"You know Avatar Sues?"

"Yeah?"

"That's her."

The writer's eyes went wide with horror, the woman being more terrifying than any shipper he'd encountered. He had worriedly checked the AvatarSues journal every day for no other reason than making sure that his story hadn't found its way onto the page. When the shippers led their uprising, the one benefit was that his fanfiction could never be discovered and labeled as wretched.

Before him now stood the girl who had rendered him self-conscious and paranoid without even knowing of his existence.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Booter hugged her friend, smiling with relief that they had come through. "Here, come on in, let me show you around. You too," she pointed towards Conor.

Awkwardly he approached them, trying not to stare at the Avatar Sues author.

"You've already met Rufftoon; she takes care of communications and getting whatever information we might need," she motioned a hand towards the woman.

Rufftoon nodded with a smile, happy that they had come through unharmed.

"She used to run the Avatarsues livejournal entry. We call her 'Susie,' since she probably knows the most about them. She's pretty much my second in command," she nodded to the girl at her side.

"Glad you found us; we were worried about you," she smiled.

"You've met Hanna and Fia; they take care of field work and anything else we need to assign them to."

The twins nodded in unison.

"Alright; let's get you introduced to the others and settled in. It's good that there are three of you," she smiled.

"Why's that?" Conor glanced towards her curiously.

"Because," she grinned confidently. "I have a plan to take down the shippers. And the only thing holding me back was that I was short three people." With that she turned, making her way deeper into the library as the guards returned to their posts at the door.

There was a quick catch in Isaia's breath, the prospect of the shipper uprising ending filling her with a silent hope. She followed quickly, looking towards points of the library as Booter explained them.

Conor stared nervously towards Susie, still perturbed by her presence.

Kimchi smiled, following close to the others. Whether by coincidence or by the renewal of hope, the room had grown slightly brighter at Booter's mention of having a plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter Five: House of the Sues

"…And this is research and development," Booter motioned her hand out toward what had previously been a reading room, now occupied by the top scientists of the survivors.

They had attained the accolade by running slightly faster than their predecessors.

"Here the leading technology in anti-shipper weaponry is developed." An underlying pride filled her words as she nodded her head toward the fruit of their labors.

"…This is an encyclopedia and a lighter," Conor noted flatly, peering toward one of their earliest designs.

"Why does it smell like gasoline?" Kimchi leaned forward as she sniffed, her head drawing back in disgust.

"It's soaked in it," Booter explained gleefully, Susie stepping to her side.

"We've even found a way to recycle some of our supplies into tools to use against the shippers," the lieutenant explained as she approached a long table, two of the movement scientists stepping back.

Recognizing that which lay before them, Kimchi's eyes lit up with eager fascination beneath her dark sunglasses. Stepping forward she lifted a hand, barely whispering the words.

"…This is…"

"Yes," Susie nodded with a smile, looking toward the artist.

There on the table beneath the halogen ceiling lights, surrounded by printed word and works of Sue-destruction lay an armor, shield and sword constructed entirely of pocky boxes.

"It's…It's beautiful…" Kimchi's fingers lifted gently, the tips tracing along its cardboard majesty.

"…Are you kidding me with this?" Conor's eyebrow rose, unable to comprehend the purpose of the construct.

"We needed to create a device that would distract the shippers long enough that we could get by them," Susie turned to the writer, explaining. "After awhile we figured out that most Avatar fans are attracted to other anime series. And most anime fans are obsessed with pocky."

"But they got through the pocky boxes way too fast," one of the scientists chimed in.

"So we tried wrapping one in duct tape and throwing it," another noted.

"I'm sorry; you wrapped it in duct tape?" Conor stared.

"…It was a lot of duct tape," the second reassured. "And it turned out that they won't go for it unless they can see or smell it; something to let them know it's pocky."

"So we wrote "pocky" on the giant wad of duct tape and tried again. They bought into it, but it still didn't last as long as we wanted it to."

"So your solution to the question of distracting shippers without sacrificing manpower is to wrap someone up in a suit made of stuff you know they'll go after?" The swordsman watched as Kimchi hurried to equip the helmet.

"Well, whoever'll be in the suit'll be fast. Really fast," the first folded his arms.

"Or a chimp," the second raised a finger. "We're really hoping that Hanna and Fia'll pull through and bring us a chimp one of these days."

"Forget that," Booter interrupted the discussion, catching Conor's attention. "I want to show you something." Turning, she pressed her palm against a door as she opened it to the hallway.

"Alright," he nodded, following while glancing toward Kimchi.

The artist was far too occupied strapping on the armor to notice his departure.

"There's something I want to confirm," the leader explained as she opened another door. They entered the librarian's office, a large map of the country tacked to the wall with post-it notes scattered over its face. The office had become hers since the survivors first found sanctuary in the building.

"So you three started from…Here," Booter set her finger against the location where he had met the two artists.

"Yeah."

"Alright…I need you to confirm something for me. What shippers did you bump into on the way?"

"Well, right here we bumped into some Kataangers. Then here," he lifted his finger, setting it down a short distance away. "Here, Zukkas. And some more here; I figure they might have followed after us. Then here…I think these might have been Azulaangs."

"Right; there are a lot of those along here. Good," Booter noted while squinting, studying the map. Peering toward post it notes she touched the tip of a different marker to each of the areas he had indicated, noting that which he had mentioned.

"Why'd you need to know?"

"I've been gathering whatever information I can; it's hard to come by the longer the uprising goes on. Each color represents a different shipping group. I asked you about what you saw to confirm if I was right or not."

"They're in giant clusters," he narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher the meaning behind it. Each shipping group occupied certain areas, no shippers of differing preference recorded within the territory of another.

"The way I see it, the shippers aren't staging an uprising; they're staging a war." Booter folded her arms, her eyes searching through the sections she had marked.

"A war?"

"Against each other. The only reason they're infecting regular people is to get more numbers on their side. They're really looking to fight it out and see which shipping comes out on top."

"How does me telling you who we bumped into on the way here help?"

"I had already figured out the Azulaangers and the Kataangers; what you told me just confirms it and gives me a better idea of where the Zukkas are."

"But that's not enough to support that they're at war," he noted, seeing holes in her theory.

"Right; but in every shot and report I've seen on the infected, there's never been more than one pairing. Just like it was on your way here. This tells us that they're most likely territorial."

"Alright, but that doesn't imply hostility. If they were at war with each other, don't you think there would've been some adjustment to their borders?" Conor lifted his hand to the map, tracing the edge of the Kataanger's section.

"Please," she snorted as her eyebrow rose, surprised he would even ask. "When have you ever known a shipper to do anything beyond surrounding themselves with people who agree with them and dubbing those who don't as inferior?"

"…Touche," the writer noted, her point demonstrated.

"Alright; let's go. Now that we've got this figured out, we've got a meeting to get to." She grinned as she made her way back to the door, the swordsman following after.

There was no rush to their pace, taking their time as they entered a small auditorium.

Toward the front sat Rufftoon and Isaia, the two discussing the adventures they had encountered since the uprising began. Beside them sat Kimchi, proudly donning the pocky armor.

The other survivors lined the rows of chairs, Susie smiling as she spoke with them. Fia sat at the end of the first row in all white, Hanna seated beside her in black. The two switched the color schemes of their attire frequently, amused by the confusion it caused others.

Conor took his seat beside the crossbow wielder, watching as Booter made her way to the center of the stage.

"Alright," she smiled as she fired up the projector, a square of light forming behind her. "Glad to see everyone's here. You've all had some time to meet the new faces and I've had some time to think. Now that they're here, we have the opportunity to make our stand against the shippers." Her hand grasped the nearby computer mouse, tracing it slowly over the wood of the podium as she selected the file she wanted.

The words "Final Stand Against the Shippers, by Booter" appeared at the center of the screen, a marble background behind it.

"…She made a PowerPoint presentation of her master plan?" Conor whispered to Kimchi.

"One of the tech guys did," the survivor behind him corrected.

"I like it," Kimchi shrugged.

"Thanks to a variety of news reports and information, I've been able to figure out the general areas occupied by each of the infected groups." Her finger pressed down upon the mouse, the slide switching to a picture of the map she had shown Conor just minutes earlier. "Because of the earliest reports, the ones that we all saw on the news at the very beginning of the uprising, I've been able to guess at which groups caused this whole mess."

The slide altered quickly to screenshots from local news coverage of the two large ships that had reached the American coastline just prior to the nightmare.

"No one's going to be really shocked by this; it's the Kataangers and the Zutarians."

"What makes you think that?" a voice called out from the audience.

"One of the national news organizations was producing incredibly detailed coverage on the ships the original infected came from. I guess it was a slow news week. Anyway; they noted that the ships marked "Zutara" and "Kataang" were the first to drop radio contact. The others came days later, and most of them had been sent to inspect the other two."

"How do you get Azulaang and Katoph shippers from Zutarians and Kataangers…?" Isaia looked curiously from her seat, watching the slides.

"We have three theories on that," Booter noted. "Mine is that the Kataangers and Zutarians had conquered the other groups and were keeping them prisoner on the ships. Confusing them for victims, the rescue crew members from the later ships must have been infected. Now increased in numbers, they probably escaped and made their way to the shore before infecting others. Susie has a different theory," she nodded toward her lieutenant.

"I figure that the viruses aren't exclusive of one another," she started. "That a Zukong biting you doesn't guarantee you'll become a Zukong; it depends on what pairing you're exposed to first. There could've been some wretched fanfiction writer aboard the two ships for all we know. And then there's Hanna's theory," she noted.

"I say it's magic," she folded her arms confidently.

"Regardless," the leader continued, "the Kataangers and the Zutarians are the two largest groups. And if my theory holds true, then attacking them might bring an end to the uprising."

"How? There are probably thousands of them by now, maybe millions!" A voice yelled out worriedly.

"Which is why the next slide is the most important," Booter noted as she pressed on the mouse again, a picture and a few lines of text appearing. "About a week ago, we managed to get a very brief internet signal. A film major from New York filmed his college after the uprising as a plea for help, uploading it to any video website that was in service. Comparing this to other reports, we can tell easily that the volume of shippers at the University at Albany is at least three times higher than anywhere else within the Kataanger's territory."

Conor clenched his teeth slightly. He had been a student at Albany and disliked it long before it was occupied by the infected. Being the first of the group to hate it offered little comfort.

"We know that they're swarming there. During that brief period of internet service, we found similar reports for an address in California. The Zutarian population seems to spiral from there. If we know where they are, we know where to hit them. And thanks to some incredibly lucky scavenging, we know what to hit them with." She motioned her hand to the side as Susie stepped onto the stage pushing a cart. Atop it was two large metallic devices, each decorated with a biohazard symbol.

"Are those nukes?" Conor's eyes went wide, watching as Susie stopped at the center of the stage.

Booter glanced toward the devices, turning quickly before scribbling something above the biohazard sticker.

"Of course not," she answered calmly as she looked back out to the audience, the word "not" sprawled above each of the nuclear markers.

"Those are nukes!" he exclaimed, pointing toward them.

"Excuse me, but they're very clearly marked otherwise," one of the survivors whispered into his ear, leaning forward.

"You want us to blow them up!?"

"Relax; you'll be long gone before the charges go off. We're going to duct tape pocky boxes to both to make sure the shippers hold onto them," one of the scientists explained.

The writer's eyebrow rose, curious as to whether the research and development department was based entirely in the various uses of duct tape and candy boxes.

"He's right; we're making sure that neither of the two devices will go off until you're well out of harm's way. We don't know exactly what or who the source of the infection is, so we have to obliterate as much as we can to try and destroy it." Booter's explanation was calm, her finger pressing down once more on the mouse. "Now, all we need to do is divide up the teams."

The listing of eligible candidates appeared on the projection behind her, drawing out a sheet of paper to record the rosters.

"We're going to need a team to infiltrate Albany and another to hit California. We're going to try to execute both strikes at the same time so that one side doesn't fall before the other and enable the remaining to change positions."

"Put me on the California team," Susie noted coldly, stepping forward.

The audience stared, surprised by the sudden harshness in her words.

"The Zutarians are there. Prey of the Demons will be there, too. I'm going to settle this once and for all." Her eyes were focused, her vendetta known to those who had followed the fanfiction community.

"Put me on the Albany team," Conor stood, his arms folded. "I was a student there before the uprising; I know it inside and out."

Booter nodded quietly, her hand moving swiftly to each column as she marked the volunteers.

"Put me in with the dork," Kimchi rose, smirking. Their travels had brought her to be familiar with him, accustomed enough that they would be far more effective together than separated.

"…Me too," Isaia stood up, somewhat nervous. It was the first time they had knowingly headed into a dangerous situation, rather than traveling with caution.

"I mean…On the team with Conor. Not that he's, y'know, a dork," she corrected, hoping she hadn't insulted him.

The writer smiled gently, glancing toward her.

"We'll go with Susie," Fia raised her hand, volunteering the two.

"Rufftoon, you'll stay here as the center of communication," Booter explained.

"Got it," the veteran artist smiled.

"I'll stay here to keep everyone connected and issue commands," she went on, motioning her hand toward guards as she assigned them to the teams. The writing stopped, nodding as she reviewed it.

"Alright then," Booter looked out over the survivors. "We'll take the next two days to rest up and get supplies ready. Get ready people." Her voice took a sudden firmness, the gravity of the task before them gripping the room. "This is it; the final battle."

The room exploded with determined energy, all those within it hurrying to prepare for what lay on the horizon.

That night, atop the roof of the library Rufftoon and Isaia would sit. Temporarily they would cast aside the weight of worry, resigning instead to the joy and comfort of familiar conversation as they drew merrily upon their sketchbooks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Shippers: Rise of the Sues**

Chapter Six: Resident Shippers

"Will you just take a seat already? Jesus Christ," the old man scolded him, looking up from the head of the kitchen table. His eyes conveyed an impatience that lacked frustration, his tone beckoning his grandson away from the sink.

"Sorry, sorry," Conor smirked as he finished scrubbing the red filth off of the plate. He took a nearby towel, kneading it with his hands as he made his way to sit down beside him. Flipping the towel back, he felt the gentle weight of it lying over his shoulder.

James looked up at him, his head bobbing up and down as an inaudible chuckle passed through him. With a gentle smile he lifted his hand, his fingers lovingly ruffling his grandson's hair.

"You never told me what you think." Conor started, unsure as to what had prompted the comment.

"About what?"

"About me becoming a writer."

"Oh?" He held onto the syllable, the sound filling the room before fading quickly into silence. The old man's lips pursed, leaning back before offering a slow and determined nod of the head.

"What does that mean?" He could not suppress his amused grin, knowing only that the gesture conveyed approval.

"Do you like writing?" James turned to face his grandson, his gaze paralyzing.

Conor stared briefly into his grandfather's eyes. In them he had always seen an underlying strength and the wisdom of experience; the understanding that age had gradually honed. Yet most obvious to him was something permanent, something that surely had been part of the old man since his first defiant cry into the cold air of the world.

He saw kindness. Whether these were accurate observations or merely traits he himself had assigned to his elder, he would never know. It can be argued that at the end of all things, it hardly makes a difference.

"…I love it," he smiled.

"Then I think it's a good idea." He gave another slow nod, as if the motion transformed the mere opinion into unbendable fact.

"But, y'know…" James continued, his hands placed firmly on the steering wheel.

Conor turned his attention away from the window, looking curiously toward his grandfather. He had somehow grown bigger in the space of an instant.

"…You haven't written anything in a few months, have you?" The car traveled quietly along the long stretch of highway.

"The end of the semester's always busy." The voice was surely his own, yet inexplicably higher in pitch.

"Yeah, but you had time after that, right?"

"I was getting trained for my summer job, and writing for it too." It was true; the end of the college semester always soaked up whatever free time it could before releasing him, only to hurl him into the preparation needed for his summer job. Between training and travel, he had little opportunity to write.

"And then?"

"Then…" Conor's voice trailed off as he felt reality touch him gently upon his memories.

The car moved silently, the illusion refusing him the comfort of background noise.

"…Then you died." The pitch of the voice lowered, his body returning to the lost and humbled age of twenty-one. He looked up from his seat, the bottom of a staircase.

James stood before him, old and bald. His wrinkled skin hung loose in certain spots, the result of losing so much weight after a long run of hospitalization.

Despite the dream, Conor could perceive his grandfather's scent.

"You should write," he gave a small nod of the head. Even in dreams, a shadow constructed of memory and stories shared by loved ones, he nudged him closer toward what he loved to do.

There was a long silence before he nodded, his eyes fixed upon the ground. His fingers were laced together before his face, tense as he willed the dream to stretch on for another minute.

"I love you," James smiled, resting a hand on his grandson's head.

A soft choking noise pierced through the stillness, the feel of the old man's fingers only deepening the pain of the words. They were simple; typical and sometimes carelessly offered with no regard to their consequence.

Yet they were the last he had heard from him in life, whom he had cherished and admired every day.

"I always will."

There was no sudden movement, no beautiful words offered with perfect timing. There was only a young man nodding his head slightly as he cried, the gesture conveying a bitter resignation to truth.

"Give 'em hell." The phrase held no particular strength; it was merely what they had said to one another in parting each time.

Conor lifted his head slowly to the sight of an open door.

He sat at the base of the stairs, staring quietly past the empty landing as he felt silence infect the air.

* * *

Conor opened his eyes slowly, lying still as he attempted to regain focus. Ahead of him was a suburban landscape, passing rapidly as the mini-van hurried down the highway.

"Is he awake yet?" Kimchi muttered, leaning lazily into the seat. Her foot remained firm upon the gas pedal; though the lack of traffic and law enforcement had made the trip much easier, it was still a long and boring drive.

Isaia turned her upper body, quietly peering back toward the swordsman.

"Ah, I think so. Conor? Are you awake?" She kept her voice down on the off chance that he was still resting.

"Yeah," he answered quietly. His mind struggled to grasp onto the remnants of the fleeting dream, somehow committing it to memory before it could slip away into nothing.

"Are you alright…?" She kept her voice at a whisper, nervous as she noticed a weight to his features, a sadness that had been absent prior.

"Yeah," he nodded. Sitting up, he kept his attention to the window. "How far are we?"

"Two hours. We're in Astoria," Kimchi explained. "Want to switch? I'm sick of driving."

"Sure." He shook his head suddenly, blinking as he tried to snap himself back to attention. He had always detested the image of the jaded young adult, refusing to have any part of it. With a deep exhale he felt his spirits rejuvenate, even if only slightly.

"How did you sleep…?" Isaia asked with a measure of concern, unsure as to whether it would be appropriate to ask what he had dreamed about.

"Good. I feel like I've been out for months," he smiled at her, leaning forward to place his head between them. "Kimchi, pull over somewhere and we'll switch."

"You pull over!"

"…You're driving."

"You're driving!" She accused, staring down the highway.

"…Has your blinker been on the whole time…?" he stared hard at the dashboard, suddenly aware of the clicking noise in the background.

"…Shut up," she muttered flatly.

"Oh no…" Isaia trailed off, her hand lifting to her mouth.

The two ceased their bickering, Isaia's intervention always succeeding in interrupting them from their senseless exchanges.

They peered out the window, the mini-van stopping as they noticed a distant figure fending off a horde of Kataangers.

* * *

"Right. I think you should just keep the phone plugged into the car charger for now. Yeah. Yeah. Wait, I don't know. Wait." Rufftoon looked up from the phone to their commander, delivering the inquiry. "Will the cell phone charger in a car work if the car is off?"

"No," Booter answered. She remained behind the communications station, her arms folded. Maps and monitors had been hastily scattered around them, effectively turning the communications desk into the nervous center of the base.

"No, it won't work. Do you get a good signal there? How many bars? No, not the battery, how many service bars? Five? No, five is good. It means the charge will hold longer, since it's not looking for a network. Yeah, just plug it in when the car's on. Alright. Just sit tight, we'll call you when the others are ready. Thanks. Right. Bye!" Rufftoon set the phone down gently, looking back up to Booter.

"Susie's team is in place. They say they can see a ton of Zutarians mulling about, but they haven't noticed them. They also managed to pick up the secret weapon on the way there. "

"How close are they to the target?"

"Three kilometers."

Booter's face conveyed a great degree of perplexity, her eyebrow lifting.

"How long is that in normal people measure?"

"It's metric. Metric is what normal people use." Her explanation was calm, attempting to defend her native country's use of a uniform and convenient system.

"I don't use it." Booter's counter was defensive, attempting to demonstrate that the metric system was both silly and weird.

"Are you normal?"

"Am I a shipper?"

"No."

"Look at that; I'm normal! How much is it in miles?"

She opened a nearby drawer, fishing out an old calculator before setting to work. A moment later she looked up, lifting the device to confirm her answer.

"Two."

"Okay, good. Where's the Albany team?"

"Last time they called, they were just coming into New York. So right now, they're probably two hours away. Maybe a little less," she glanced at a notepad to see when she had taken the message.

"Excellent," Booter smiled, turning toward a map of the country. "We're almost in position."

"They also insisted that we change their team name from 'team Albany' to 'team Iroh's Awesome and rules your face'." She read carefully from the notepad, making sure to recite it properly.

"Approved!" She lifted her fist to the sky.

* * *

"What are you doing!?" Isaia's eyes went wide as she gripped whatever she could to steady herself.

The mini-van shook violently as it pulled from the highway, speeding across a flat field toward the crowd they had observed earlier.

"I'm helping him out!" Kimchi yelled in response, her grip tight on the steering wheel.

"Slow down!" the artist pleaded, genuinely fearing for her life.

"Turn your goddamn blinker off!" Conor yelled from the back, the movement of the vehicle tossing him around despite the best efforts of his seatbelt.

"Make me!" She answered defiantly, her muscles tightening as the front of the mini-van plowed into a crowd of shippers.

The figure looked up from the advancing group of Kataangers, his hand lifting to quickly reposition his glasses. His jeans gave evidence to his struggle, slight tears littering the legs. His T-Shirt was black, the blue head of a rabbit resting happily at the center with the phrase "yaytime" written beneath.

Conor tore the door of the mini-van open, glaring out toward the blank gleeful stares of the infected. His fingers gripped the handle of the katana tightly, drawing it slowly from its sheath.

The passenger side window lowered quickly, Isaia lifting her pistol to face toward them. Behind her, Kimchi lowered her window to do the same.

The swordsman tore out of the van, stabbing the katana deep into the stomach of a shipper.

"It's canon…" he moaned slowly.

"The cave of two lovers…They totally ki-" the argument was interrupted as the shipper's jaw burst from his skull, Isaia's shot obliterating it.

"Katara doesn't trust Zuko…She never will…" The faint whispers escaped the Kataanger as he hit the ground, body riddled with arrows.

"Get in the car!" Kimchi yelled out to the stranger, waving her hand to beckon him.

"I'm alright!" he insisted, pulling a small object from his pocket. He ducked swiftly, dodging one of the shipper's strikes.

Conor thrust his arm up, the sword cutting a deep vertical gash into one of the infected. It stumbled back, the inner workings of its torso exposed. With a quick turn he watched the man, squinting to make out the object.

"Is that a…?" Isaia stared, trailing off.

"…Holy crap, that's a digivice." Kimchi stared as her hands worked almost unconsciously to load another bolt.

The stranger extended his arm, holding the digivice steady as one of the Kataangers drew closer.

"No way," Isaia whispered. Had she been told a year ago that the shipping community would form an uprising and decimate the country she would have never believed it. Yet here before them stood a man, his finger poised to activate the device seen commonly in what they had all thought to be a television show.

"Here we go," the stranger whispered confidently, gripping the digivice tightly.

They watched in silence, the tension growing as the shipper came closer him.

He then proceeded to lift the device and smash it down repeatedly upon the Kataanger's skull, bludgeoning him into submission.

Kimchi's mouth hung open, amazed by just how anti-climactic the scene had turned out to be.

Isaia pursed her lips quietly, slightly embarrassed that she had actually expected something.

Conor smirked, shaking his head slightly as he turned to slice into another shipper.

The fight did not carry on much longer, the small squad of Kataangers writhing and moaning before eventually passing. The group went about their usual cleanup, Isaia opening the door of the car to try and brush out the spent cartridges from her gun.

Kimchi stepped toward the stranger, passing the swordsman as he wiped the infected blood from his blade.

"So, what happened? Did you get chased here?" She asked curiously, wondering how he had come so close to the highway.

He attempted to wipe away some shipper blood, composing himself. "Kind of. I was driving out to the store to try and get some supplies; a few of us are holed up a few miles over. I ran out of gas and tried to walk back, but they manage to catch me." He smiled, silently cursing his own luck.

"How many of you are in hiding?" Isaia looked toward him, sweeping the last few cartridges to the ground.

"A lot. A couple of hundred, actually," he glanced in the direction of their hideout, hoping that the others were still safe.

"That's good," Conor started before sheathing the katana. "That means a hundred people can try to go back to a normal life in a few hours."

"A few hours?" his eyebrow rose curiously, unsure as to what he was implying.

"It's a long story. The short version is; we're on our way to end this. Once and for all. If it goes like we're hoping, the shippers will all fall apart by this time tomorrow." Kimchi summarized.

The stranger's eyes lit up; hope grasping his features and lifting them considerably.

"Are you serious about this? You really think you can end this?"

"Yeah, we have solid info." She grinned as she folded her arms.

"…And nukes. And more duct tape than we know what to do with," the swordsman grunted, interrupted by Kimchi elbowing him in the gut.

"Well, that's incredible! What can I do to help? Anything?" He looked excitedly toward them, pocketing the digivice once again.

"Actually…" Isaia started, pondering.

"Hmm?" her fellow artist questioned.

"…Well, Conor knows Albany. But we're not very familiar with the Kataangers around here, right? I mean, where they are or how many. Maybe it would help to have a guide?"

"That's true," Conor nodded. He hadn't been to Albany since before the uprising; he was just as likely to navigate them into a horde of shippers as get them there safely.

"I can get you to Albany," the stranger nodded. "I was there once with another group to try and pick up some survivors just a few weeks ago."

"Welcome aboard then!" Kimchi grinned, offering a hand. "I'm Kimchi. This is Isaia; and over here is Dorkface McBananafiend."

"Yeah, thanks," the swordsman muttered.

"Kimchi and Isaia…I know both of you!" He laughed, extending his hand to meet hers.

"Eh?" Isaia squinted, searching her memory to see if she could recognize him.

"I'm Dave Roman; it's great to finally meet you both." He smiled as he shook their hands.

Their eyes lit up, recognizing the name instantly. The two called out joyously, the group piling into the mini-van as Conor took to the wheel. The trip had taken on a certain dread and anxiety as they drew closer to the final conflict; the levity that Dave's company brought was a welcome and reassuring change.

* * *

"Got it. Right. We'll call you in a minute or two. Good luck. Bye," Rufftoon nodded solemnly, setting the phone down once again.

"Are they alright?" Booter glanced toward her from the map.

"They've made it to Albany, less then a mile from the target. Both teams are in position." There was a certain worry to her voice, anxiety fluttering beneath her chest as the critical moment came closer.

"Alright then," Booter turned to face her. "Give the signal."

Rufftoon placed her hand on the receiver, lifting it as her eyes fell upon two pieces of paper propped up against the desk. They were the results of the time she and Isaia had spent sketching; two images, one by her hand and one by Isaia's, of all the members of the resistance.

The moment had come.


End file.
